


A Journey With Water and With Stars

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Bath Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Makeup Sex, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy helps Uhura unwind after a grueling negotiation session. She is completely (well, mostly) pliant in his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Journey With Water and With Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/gifts).



There’s a retort on the tip of his tongue, a snappy comeback to something she said earlier that, for some reason, still burns. He worked on it all afternoon. Well, between checkups and two very minor surgeries. He even ran it past Chapel, who listened patiently, then informed him that he was out of his mind. Clever, but out of his mind. He decided to take that as a compliment.

Nyota’s meeting is supposed to end at 18:00 and, given the Lossarans’ obsessive devotion to structure, Leonard expects her back no later than 18:20. That’ll give her enough time to share her observations with Jim and Spock, and make her way back to their shared quarters. By 18:10, Leonard is ready for her. He’s kicked off his boots and changed into his black off-duty tunic – a clean one. He’s run a comb through his hair a couple of times. He’s even considered shaving, just to give his hands something to do besides fidget restlessly at his sides. 

By 18:15, he’s leaning back in his desk chair, a PADD at his side, one leg crossed casually over the other.

At 18:18, he hears soft footsteps in the corridor outside, and he’s half out of his seat before the door is even a quarter open, practically wriggling with anticipation. He _will_ have the last word this time.

But when he finally sees her in the doorway looking thin and drained, everything he planned to say drops back down his throat like a marble into a pool, lost and forgotten. He starts toward her, but she holds up a hand, shakes her head.

“Don’t,” she says, and her voice is low, rough. “Just don’t say anything. I’m sorry about this morning. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about _anything_ right now and, so help me, if you say one word, I will kick you in the jaw.”

He’d have to lie down at her feet first, but he knows better than to say it. She’s had a bad day, and the last thing in the world he wants is to make it worse. So he nods and solemnly lays a finger across his lips, as if to say _You won’t hear a peep out of me._

She doesn’t smile, but her mouth softens slightly. “Thank you,” she says as she walks past him into their quarters and flops onto the couch. Leaning back against the cushions, she tugs at her hair clasp, eventually working it loose. She drops it onto the couch beside her but it bounces off and onto the floor. She doesn’t move to pick it up.

Leonard remains standing, watching her uncertainly. He wants to ask her how the negotiations went, though he supposes he can read about them later in the official mission report. Which will probably be terse and dry, as these things tend to be. He could ask Jim, of course, but – damn it, he wants _her_ take on the situation. He likes listening to her opinions, most of the time; she’s clever as hell, and she has a good ear for bullshit.

But when he starts to open his mouth, she sighs and turns her face away, touching the pads of her thumb and middle finger to her temples.

The gesture is familiar, and it stops his breath. For a moment, he’s back in Atlanta and it’s Jocelyn on the couch, refusing to talk to him, refusing to even look at him. He feels the burn of anger, even though that was years ago and half a galaxy away, and as much his fault as hers.

A slight movement from Nyota snaps him back to the present. Now she’s resting her cheek against the palm of her hand and looking up at him with big, tired eyes.

Damn, those eyes of hers. 

Leonard gives himself a mental kick in the pants, tells himself that as frustrating as the situation with the Lossarans no doubt is, the ship isn’t on Red Alert. They aren’t hightailing it out of the system at Warp Nine or calling in the cavalry.

This is a situation he can handle. 

He takes one last look at her, noting the bags under her eyes and the fine lines at the corners of her mouth, then pivots on his heel and walks into the head, closing the door behind him.

Once he’s alone, he drags his fingers through his hair and thinks: shower or bath? Bath, he decides, and silently thanks Spock for breaking with regulations and giving them these sumptuous quarters, which should’ve been his. Gift, peace offering, or some combination of the two, Leonard is grateful.

While the tub fills with steaming water, Leonard pokes around in the storage compartments under the sink. He finds some packets of scented bath salts; massage oil in a small, rose-tinted bottle; and a few fat candles. He rips open one of the packets and dumps its contents into the filling tub. The scent that rises to his nostrils is … definitely floral, though he can’t for the life of him identify it. It’s pretty, anyway, kind of reminds him of that tropical rainforest on Gantra III. The one with the green monkey-things that stole his medical tricorder and danced around in the branches above his head when he ordered them to give it back.

It definitely annoyed him at the time, but Leonard smiles now, remember Nyota’s laughter.

He’s lighting the candles – arranged without any attempt at artistry, he’s a doctor not an interior decorator – when the door to the head slides open. He hears Nyota’s soft gasp and he starts to turn, to tell her that the room’s all hers if she wants it. Then he remembers his promise not to say a word, so he just raises his eyebrows.

“Leonard, I…” she says in a rush. “ _Thank_ you.”

He lifts an invisible glass to his lips and pantomimes sipping. Cocking her head slightly, she frowns, so he does it again.

“Oh,” she says, catching on. “Yes. Please. Red, if there is any.”

He gives a curt nod, gesturing toward the tub. She doesn’t move, so he starts to go. In the doorway, he pauses and glances back, but she’s still just contemplating the water and the candles so he shrugs and leaves her to it.

He takes his time finding the glasses and making sure they’re clean. Then he wastes a few more minutes poring over each wine bottle, reading the labels carefully before selecting one – a cabernet they picked up the last time they were at Starfleet Headquarters – and filling their glasses. 

By the time he makes it back to the head, Nyota is looking exponentially more relaxed. She’s submerged to her shoulders, with her knees sticking up out of the water like two smooth islands in a fragrant sea. Her head is tipped back, her eyes closed, her hair piled high except for a few loose tendrils spilling down her neck. She seems to be asleep, but when Leonard starts to kneel so he can set one of the wine glasses down beside her, the long dark lashes flutter and she blinks up at him slowly. For the first time since the previous night, her dry lips curve in a slight smile. 

“Hi,” she whispers, and her voice is brittle but there’s genuine affection behind it. 

Leonard smiles in response, but something stops his voice; it’s like someone’s cast a spell over him.

Nyota pushes herself up, half-rising from the water. Her body glistens; the candlelight lends her smooth brown skin a honey-warmth. Leonard’s pulse jumps when she touches his neck with her fingertips. Then she tilts her head and presses her lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss.

For a moment or two, Leonard doesn’t move. He just sits there, frozen. Then it occurs to him that he has to _breathe_ , so he parts his lips and Nyota takes the opportunity to flick her tongue between them. He starts at the minor penetration, almost knocking the wine glasses over with his forearm. Nyota deepens the kiss, her slender fingers curving around the back of his neck. He can feel the way her arm trembles, can feel the stutter of her heart against his chest. She’s _tired_ after a long day, and part of that is his fault. Part of that is her fault too – he can’t remember who started their argument this morning, but they’re both pretty volatile people – but who the hell cares? She’s the great communicator, and what’s she doing now but communicating her regret and forgiveness and yes, love, to him? And he’s the damn healer.

With that in mind, Leonard comes slowly back to life. He slides his fingers into her hair, knocking a few pins loose; he hears them _ping_ faintly against the side of the tub. He wraps his other arm around her waist, gathering her to him. She’s slippery from the water and whatever perfumes were in the bath salts. She gets the front of his shirt wet, but he doesn’t care; this is how embracing a mermaid must feel. She could pull him under if she wanted and he’d go with her song on his lips.

After about another minute, however, Nyota pulls back. Not far, but the space between their mouths feels like a vacuum.

Nyota traces Leonard’s cheek with her fingertips, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. She smiles again and says, “Come join me.” The last word snags slightly, making it sound like she’s asking him a question. 

“You sure?” he says, and there’s a rawness to his voice like it’s something brand new. “You remember what happened last time we tried that?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle. “I remember. Come on, sailor.” She grabs the bottom of his shirt and starts to tug.

He helps her, or tries. Their hands fumble and their foreheads bump, but it isn’t long at all before his clothes are in a pile beside hers, and he’s flopping clumsily into the tub, splashing water over the side in the process. Once he’s in there with her, she kisses him again and wraps herself around him, using arms and legs to hold him close. He slides against her, his hands kneading their way down her body, starting with the delicate bones of her shoulders and moving lower. She bites at his lip, then licks him teasingly. Her laughter becomes a soft gasp when he squeezes her buttocks, lifting her legs and spreading them wider.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Leonard, yes.”

And he could. Despite the temperature of the water, he can feel _her_ heat against his thigh, and every nerve in his body is screaming _yesnowyes_ , but this is happening a little faster than he anticipated – or hoped, actually – and while that’s certainly _okay_ , there’s something else he’d like to do first.

This time he’s the one to pull back, and when she whimpers with disappointment, he just winks. And hands her a wine glass. She takes it with a bemused frown, but she does take it and brings it to her lips.

“Hmm, good choice,” she says.

“Turn around.” 

Still giving him that uncertain look, she complies, and he leans over the side of the tub searching for that little rose-colored bottle of massage oil. He finds it under his clothes, which are soaked, flicks the cap off with his thumb, and pours a small amount into his palm. When he twists back around he sees that she’s sitting with her back to him.

“All right,” he says, “now close your eyes, and try to enjoy this.” He waits for her to nod, then he shifts closer, brushing her hair aside. She shivers, hunching slightly. “It’s okay, darlin’. I gotcha. Just relax now.”

He rubs his palms together so the oil isn’t too cool when he applies it to her skin. He starts slowly, rubbing small concentric circles into the nape of her neck. 

“That feels good,” she acknowledges.

“Good,” he says softly. 

“The Lossarans are going to sign the treaty, by the way. They’re not happy about it. Well, their ambassador isn’t happy about it. But they’ll sign. Kirk handled them well.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“I wasn’t sure,” she confesses while his hands massage the taut muscles of her back and shoulders. “The ambassador – I guess you’d call him a real stickler for rules, and Kirk … isn’t. I mean, he has that reputation and I thought that would get us in trouble. But it went well. I – oh!” 

Leonard has found a particularly knotty knot, and is methodically working it loose. “’M I hurting you?”

She shakes her head. “No, don’t stop.”

“All right. So, the Lossarans…?”

“I don’t want to talk about them anymore.”

He leans close and kisses her ear. “All right.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, just sipping her wine and breathing deeply. Then she says, “Leonard, this is wonderful. Thank you so much. We should fight more often.”

His fingertips skitter over the small of her back and he has to bite his lip. He knows she’s teasing, but the truth is, he hates it when they argue. He feels wretched whenever they do, though he tries to think of it as a competition, a round of sparring. That’s exactly what it is with Jim and Spock, but with her it’s different. She’s in too deep, and could really hurt him if she wanted to. He can’t stop thinking about how he fucked things up with Jocelyn even though they’re two very different women and that was so long ago.

As if sensing her mistake, Nyota says quickly, “I didn’t mean that. I don’t like fighting with you. I’m sorry about before.”

“So’m I.”

She leans back, resting her head on his shoulder. He takes the wine glass from her hand and sets it aside. Then he wraps his arms around her and settles back. The water sloshes, lapping at their skin. Leonard strokes Nyota’s breasts until she starts to move against him again, the soft rumble in her throat reminding him of a cat’s purr. 

“This reminds me of something,” she murmurs after a short while. “Something about the scent and the steam. I can’t place it.”

“Gantra III?” he offers, then right away wishes he hadn’t. He teases her nipple, hoping to distract her so she won’t mention the damn monkey-things.

“Gantra III,” she muses. “I think you’re right. Wasn’t that the planet with the … hmmm.” Whatever she meant to say seems to have dissolved on her tongue. 

_Mission accomplished,_ thinks Leonard with a grin.

Then he too stops thinking coherently as she catches hold of his wrist and guides his hand lower.

03/21/2012


End file.
